The First Time in Paolo’s Loft.
“You’re not as well-behaved as you seem,”
“You have no idea,” she told him breathily, grabbing his wrists and pinning them over his head. She straddled him, admiring his arms, inked on the biceps and perfectly built; his chest, tan and muscled as she’d imagined it beneath his shirt, a scattering of hair that tapered down to his navel. And below? She would have to find out. Still holding his wrists, she began grinding against him, slowly, gently, reaching to kiss him in rhythm and letting her nipples graze his chest through the lace of her bra. Through her jeans and his she felt him, and she rode harder now, lingering with her lips at the base of his neck.
“Take off my jeans,” she said breathlessly, releasing his hands. He scrambled to open them, push them down her hips, revealing a thong in the same black lace as her bra.
“Mine–” and she frantically fumbled with his belt, his fly; she pulled at the denim then sat back on her heels relishing the view before her. Black D&G boxer briefs, with an unmistakable bulge and the head of his cock peeking out from the waistband. She recognized him now, from that Dolce ad a few years ago with the Italian National Team in their locker room, wearing only underwear. At the time Francesca had dismissed it as sensationalism, typical Dolce & Gabbana, but now she could finally appreciate the full impact of the ad. She lowered herself down towards his cock again, closer now, fewer layers between them. She felt his girth and his hardness, and her own wet warmth pulsing against him. Two more lingering thrusts against his underwear and she lowered herself down the bed until her eyes were level with his navel.